


it's peaceful in the deep

by WeeBeastie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst and Feels, Kissing, M/M, Tumblr ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 04:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12449643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: and the crashes are heaven for a sinner like mebut the arms of the ocean deliver me(never let me go, never let me go)[a soft sad tumblr ficlet inspired by an anonymous prompt]





	it's peaceful in the deep

**Author's Note:**

> I must apologize for the sadness of this one, guys. The prompt I got nearly killed me so I knew I had to write something devastating in reply. I'm sorry!!
> 
> Title and lyrics in the summary taken from "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + The Machine which I'm sure has already been done in this fandom but it just fits so well.

Flint wonders, on occasion, who Silver was before he became Long John Silver.

He's asked, of course. Or-- hinted at asking because he knows Silver wouldn't answer even if he asked him point-blank, _who are you really_? 

Not that he answers the hinting, either.

Sometimes his own curiosity gnaws at him. He can't help but draw certain parallels between James McGraw and whoever Silver was, before. Did he have family? Did he love someone? Was he ever vulnerable, soft, truly open with anyone? Did he, like McGraw, learn the truth of himself at the hands of another?

In idle moments, daydreaming, Flint will occasionally picture Silver as something like a hermit crab. He moves from one shell, one persona and history and existence, to another. In between he's defenseless, facing incredible risk without his armor to protect him. Flint thinks he just has to catch him when he's in that in-between space, when he's got nothing to shrink back into or hide behind. Maybe then he'll see the real person behind all the flash and bravado. The man in the shadow of the king. He's seen glimpses of him before, he thinks, when they're alone.

He sees evidence in favor of this theory writ large on Silver's body. Most of him is hard, rough. Sinewy muscles and sun-darkened skin; large, blunt hands with dirt under their gnawed-on fingernails. But there are still places on him, places Flint likes to tell himself that only he knows. They're soft and sweet and fragile, even when the rest of him is anything but.

He likes to press his lips to those places, when they're alone. When Silver will let him.

He'll lie in his bed in a pleasurable haze pre-dawn or post-moonrise and take Silver's hand in his own, drawing his arm close to kiss the inside of his wrist and feel the pulse thumping under his lips. He'll kiss up Silver's forearm to the crook of his elbow, admiring the oceanic blue-green of his veins underneath the gold of his skin. Then he'll kiss there too, and sometimes Silver will laugh and blush and turn his face away. Bashful. Sometimes he'll just watch, silent, and Flint will get the sense that he's holding his breath. Keeping himself from saying any words that would match the vulnerability his body is showing.

Sometimes when Silver is bent over a map or a book, a frown of concentration creasing his forehead, Flint will come up behind him and shift his curls aside. He'll run his teeth ever so gently over the shell of Silver's ear, nuzzle the nape of his neck and inhale the scent of him, salt and earth, sea and shore. He's soft there, where the long spirals of his hair give way to ringlets untouched by the elements. 

Very rarely, Silver will come to Flint and show him a soft spot of his own volition. One night he takes Flint’s face in both hands and leans in, tipping their foreheads against each other so softly Flint barely even feels it. They stand that way, sharing breath, for a fleeting moment before Silver puts his hands in Flint's clothing and makes him feel alive again. 

One morning Silver rolls over onto his belly, naked and relaxed, having thrown the bedclothes off in his sleep as he's wont to do. Flint finds himself pressing a thumb into one of the twin dimples on his lower back. The skin there is silky smooth, and Flint leans in to kiss it before he can stop himself. Underneath him, Silver makes a kittenish sound but doesn't pull away. 

Flint wonders, watching while Silver moves from the shell of quartermaster to his new home as king, whether he was ever soft like that all over. Whether he'll be again, someday. 

Whether anyone could help draw it out in him, and how soft the person would have to be to do it.


End file.
